


Two Skins

by hybryd0



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is..., The Cab, The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, cameos by other bands and band members, past Frank Iero/Bob Bryar, there's some graphic descriptions of crime scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybryd0/pseuds/hybryd0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall's just had his first full moon and now there’s a new werewolf assigned to the unit who has an affect on him that he just doesn’t understand. The brutal murder of a family keeps him too busy to think about it as it’s a race against time to solve the case, but this case isn’t everything it seems and if they don’t figure it out quick there may be more victims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Skins

**Author's Note:**

> Recent discussions about bandom reminded me of one of the only fics I finished. It was inspired by all the various crime dramas I was watching at the time as well as my love for all things fantasy/supernatural.

Marshall is ten minutes late to work when he stumbles off the elevator. He’s usually early, but this morning has been so different from normal morning routine that it boggles his mind. Waking up in the unfamiliar military-like barracks of the werewolf shelter was strange enough, but it was the tight, itchy feeling of something, everything under his skin that was really unsettling. His whole body is still wired and that’s really not even mentioning his senses are so hypersensitive Marshall has to work hard to concentrate on just one thing at a time. He felt like he could smell and hear more sounds and scents than should even be possible, and when he went back to his apartment he had been blinded by the sunlight. None of that would have made him late, but he’d just had to stop and get something to counteract how sensitive his sense of smell is now.

He kind of really hopes that his senses are only this powerful right now because he’s just had his first full moon. He’s only mildly concerned with how this might all affect his performance on the job, he’s mostly convinced himself that he might even do a better job. He’s come to realize it might be the little things he never noticed before that might bother him. Driving to work the smell of all the cars around him and their noxious exhaust had almost made him sick. If it’s always like that he’s not sure how he’s going to be around cars at all without using Vick’s vapor rub to dull his sense of smell. That’s not really the only thing he wants to smell for the rest of his life.

There’s also Marshall’s new and approved hearing. He thought his brain was going to explode when a car honked, how is he going to deal with that? Wear earplugs the entire time? There’s so much to deal with now, so many uncertainties that he just feels like his mind is spinning out of control.

Weaving past a harried looking agent carrying a stack of files that’s destiny is to end up strewn across the floor, Marshall heads for his team’s bullpen as fast as he can. He recognizes the agent as being on Carden’s team, and he would normally stop and help, but he knows that he’s already going to get reamed by Bob for being late. As he nears his team’s bullpen he hears Bob question his whereabouts and staggers around the corner just in time to get a perfectly aimed spitball to the face courtesy of Special Agent Cash Colligan.

“Thanks Cash,” Marshall mutters, letting his backpack slide to the ground by his desk.

“Anytime,” Cash replies cheerfully.

“Marshall,” Bob barks and motions him over. Marshall winces a little. It feels like everyone around him is shouting at the top of their lungs.

He feels a little like he’s being called to the principals office, except there’s no privacy whatsoever. All their desks are arranged only a few feet from each other with no barriers or anything. Bob’s desk is at the back of the bullpen, which means he has to walk by all his coworkers to get there. Frank smirks at him, but is otherwise preoccupied with a phone call. Jepha gives him an encouraging smile while Adam makes a motion like he’s slitting his throat. Marshall rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. He quickly wipes that look off his face when he stops in front of Bob’s desk, fidgeting.

Bob stares at him for a moment. For a human, Bob’s blue eyes are incredibly piercing and he’s seen Bob make a demon squirm. Marshall doesn’t exactly squirm, if only because Cash would tease him relentlessly about it.

“Care to explain why you’re late, Marshall?” Bob asks. 

Marshall winces a little, though he tries not to let it show. His reason is a good one, but not one he wants to remind them about. It’s not that he’s worried that they’ll treat him differently because he’s a werewolf now. They won’t and he’s positive of that because he trusts his team. He just doesn’t want to be Marshall-the-newly-turned-werewolf instead of just being Marshall. 

“Um, last night was a full moon…”

Bob’s face stays blank, but Marshall sees his eyes widen a little. “Just try not to make a habit of it.”

“Yes sir.”

Marshall turns and quickly makes his way back to his desk. He ignores his coworkers and takes his seat, turning on his computer and waiting for it to load up. He just wants to focus on work and not think about the change in his life. Unfortunately for him, his desk is right by Cash who doesn’t ever really notice when someone is trying to ignore him. He rolls his chair over and puts his elbows on Marshall’s desk.

“So, your first transformation was last night?”

“It was a full moon,” Marshall points out.

“What was it like?”

Marshall doesn’t want to talk about it, but recognizes Cash for the nosy fucker that he is and knows that if he doesn’t give an answer he’ll never get any peace. “Painful.”

“And after the change?”

“Colligan! Stop being a nosy bastard and get back to work,” Bob barks across the bullpen.

Marshall sighs in relief when Cash shrugs and rolls his chair back to his desk. He doesn’t really want to think about the previous night. He doesn’t want to remember the feeling of his bones shifting and cracking to re-form into something else. And he really, really doesn’t want to think about the fact that he has no idea at all what he did last nigh. Locked in a government shelter with other wolves just means he didn’t hurt any humans, but he doesn’t like the fact that he still doesn’t know what he did for the whole transformation.

It only takes a few minutes of trying to work on a report for Marshall to realize he’s just not going to be able to focus. His head is reeling from the noise of the office and he can feel a headache coming on. He wants to put his hands over his ears to try and muffle it all, but instead he offers to do a coffee run for the team and is thankful that it’s Jepha who offers to come with him. Jepha is quiet and discrete and respects when someone just doesn’t want to talk about something. Which is exactly why everyone ends up telling Jepha everything they wouldn’t tell anyone else.

“It’s just, I had hoped, y’know, that the anti-venom took,” Marshall finds himself saying. “Not that I have anything against werewolves, y’know, I took Lycanthropology in college, but I just didn’t ever see myself being one.”

“No one thinks you have anything against werewolves, Alex,” Jepha says. “And no one blames you for not wanting to be one. It’s hard enough growing up and adjusting to who you are as a person, but to have all of the that changed…I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

Marshall pours coffee into Frank’s mug and then dumps in enough sugar to kill a diabetic three times over. For Cash it’s just a little sugar while Bob takes his coffee completely black. Jepha doesn’t drink coffee so he’s able to help Marshall manage all the mugs.

“The problem might be that you know too much about werewolves.”

Marshall looks over at Jepha in surprise. That particular thought hasn’t crossed Marshall’s mind, but it has plausibility. He was the werewolf expert of the team before he became one. He knows all the ins and outs, all the flaws and strengths. Everything that’s been documented about werewolves ever is all in Marshall’s head. Becoming one hasn’t changed that fact.

“Don’t overanalyze it, man. Things’ll work out,” Jepha advises with an easy smile. “And you know that you can come to me if you need to talk about it. You’re dealing a lot of change, it’s natural to be a little overwhelmed by it.”

Marshall doesn’t know the full story about Jepha, but he knows he has more to worry about in his life than Marshall ever will, so he finds it amazing how calmly Jepha takes everything. It’s actually Jepha’s reassurance that everything would be alright that Marshall remembers most about the night his life changed. He remembers pain and blood, but mostly an unnatural sense of calm.

When they get back to the bullpen everybody is still working, except for Bob who is absent. Marshall sets Bob’s mug on his desk and then hands Frank his before moving back to his seat. In answer to the silent question, Frank nods his head toward the stairs leading to the Director’s office. Cash morphs one of his hands to look like Director Wentz and then morphs his other hand to look like Bob and knocks their heads together. Frank and Adam snicker and Marshall rolls his eyes.

It’s no secret that Bob and Director Wentz don’t always see things eye-to-eye. Wentz is far more footloose and fancy free about everything than Bob finds appropriate. Marshall sometimes thinks that Bob might be jealous of the fact that someone who seems as unprofessional as Wentz is Director while Bob, who follows all the rules and procedures, is a team leader. Team leader of one of the best teams the SCIU has, but still just a team leader. Marshall knows better though, Bob isn’t the jealous sort and they all know that Wentz has done more than enough to earn his place.

“I hope Bob catches you at that,” Marshall tells his friend.

Cash smirks and shifts his hands back to normal. “What Bob doesn’t know--.”

“There’s nothing Bob doesn’t know,” their team leader says, stalking into the bullpen.

Someone else follows Bob into the bullpen. The guy is short and skinny and has hair that looks like it’s trying to eat his face. He’s got a friendly smile and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking very relaxed. He follows Bob at a sedate pace and it’s when he’s in front of Marshall’s desk that he gets a little whiff of the new guy’s scent. The fact that he can smell him despite the Vick’s vapor rub on his top lip surprises him. It’s the most appealing scent he’s caught yet, like when he’s walking through the grocery and catches the smell of cinnamon and can’t help but follow the trail to find out where it’s coming from. It’s like that. And the wolf, still so close to the surface, definitely takes notice and perks up.

“Alright slackers, listen up,” Bob rumbles. “This is Special Agent Ian Crawford, he just transferred here from the Seattle branch and Pete assigned him to our team.”

Marshall cocks his head at Bob’s wording. As far as Marshall knows, Bob has always picked who is on his team. He can hear in Bob’s tone, tightly controlled and with a hint of frustration, that he didn’t get a say about Crawford. Regardless of what kind of agent Crawford might be, Bob is not pleased.

“I know most of you weren’t raised in barns so be polite and introduce yourselves,” Bob says with the same kind of fond exasperation that always seems to be in his voice.

Frank bounces out of his seat and holds out his hand, “I’m Frank, I’m human.”

Frank is human, but he’s also a null. He was born with no supernatural talent while there’s a history of it in his family. Frank’s father is a powerful mage while his mother has psychic abilities. Marshall knows that it’s a sore point to Frank and none of them ever bring it up.

Crawford laughs and shakes Frank’s hand. “I’m Ian, I’m a werewolf.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Marshal can see Cash swing a look his way. Marshall does what he usually does when Cash does pretty much anything. He ignores him and instead watches as Jepha introduces himself. Jepha doesn’t reveal what he is, but Marshall knows Crawford can smell that Jepha isn’t human. As a Special Agent, Jepha has the rare privilege of not having to reveal his race to anyone if he doesn’t want to.

Adam introduces himself as the last human on the team. He’s considered a null even though he has a hint of magic, because it’s not enough for him to do anything significant. His specialty is in profiling and Marshall can see him analyzing Crawford already, even though he’s friendly enough. Later on when they’re off work they’ll go for beers and Adam will tell them what he thinks about Crawford, but for the moment there’s more introductions.

As soon as Cash touches Crawford’s hand he shifts his whole body to look just like the new guy. To Crawford’s credit he doesn’t even so much as flinch at Cash’s antics. He just grins and shakes his head and Marshall wonders how he already knows that’s how the rest of them deal with Cash.

Then it’s his turn and Marshall hesitates when he sees Crawford’s nostrils flare, the obvious sign of a werewolf scenting the air. Marshall has never dealt with a werewolf as one himself and it feels different on the other side. The wolf has him return the favor and he gets more of that delicious scent that makes something in him tingle. The wolf seems very pleased and Marshall just doesn’t get it.

“I smell Vicks vapor rub,” Crawford says finally.

Marshall blushes a little. “Ah, yeah, that would be me.”

“It’s a good choice for dulling your sense of smell,” the other werewolf goes on.

“Yeah, it’s done the trick so far,” Marshall agrees. He steps forward and holds out his hand. “I’m Alex, but everyone calls me Marshall.”

Crawford cocks an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because there are about ten million Alexes in this building,” Cash speaks up.

Marshall stays quiet while Frank, Adam, and Cash ask Crawford every question that comes to mind. What was the Seattle field office like? Why did the transfer? How long has he been a werewolf? All the standard things that a new team might want to know, but would normally just be answered slowly over a period of time. However, nosy defines his three teammates grilling Crawford and patience is not a virtue any of them possess. Plus they don’t really have a case right now and being nosy is as good a way as any to pass time.

The only question Crawford really answers is that he is born a werewolf. The rest of the questions he neatly maneuvers around until Bob hangs up his phone and stands up.

“Alright, girl talk is over, get your gear and let’s go.”

**^^^^**

The crime scene is just about the goriest scene Frank has ever seen, and he’s seen some pretty disgusting things in his career so far. There’s blood soaking every surface of the living room. There’s three bodies; a mother, father, and teenage son. Their faces are the only things untouched. Each of them have been ripped open and their insides are strung in thick, bloody ribbons, splashed red across the room, making it difficult to walk anywhere without fear of contaminating the scene.

Worse than that is the fact that the medical examiner and his assistants have already arrived and with a scene like this some of them can’t control their basic instincts.

“Allman! I know you’re not eating my crime scene,” Bob barks.

Allman’s face is bloody and he’s chewing on something, but he just gives Bob a blank look. Frank hides his grin behind his camera. He’s taking pictures of the carnage from every angle. Across the room Adam is doing the same thing. 

They can’t touch the anything yet while Bert McCracken, the Medical Examiner, inspects the bodies. Frank thinks he probably just wants a bite like Allman obviously already took. That’s why Frank can’t understand what possessed Pete to hire a bunch of ghouls to be in charge of the morgue. That’s like putting vampires in charge of a blood bank, it’s just asking for trouble.

“Melissa, Derek, and Lance Connors-registrations say they were hobgoblins. There’s no way they just sat here and took this,” Jepha says, looking over the files on his PDA.

“It doesn’t look like they were restrained,” Cash points out. “There could have been more than one attacker.”

“Less speculation and more evidence gathering,” Bob says. “Crawford, Marshall, go talk to the jogger who found them. Jepha, go talk to the neighbors, see if anyone saw anything. Cash, check the outside. Frank and Adam check out upstairs. And for the love of god, McCracken, keep your guys from eating the goddamn victims!”

“Is only finger,” Dan, the other assistant, says while waving Bob off like it’s nothing to worry about.

“Knock it the hell off!”

Frank smirks a little as Bert and his two assistants jabber at each other in ghoulish before they start seriously loading up the bodies for transport. Frank turns to go upstairs with Adam when the sound of someone clearing their throat makes them both stop. He turns around to see that it’s Crawford who is drawing attention to himself.

“Uh, I smell dark magic, like maybe a paralyzing spell,” the werewolf says. “And other than ours the only scents in here are theirs and one other, one that’s as engrained in this house as their own. That might be important.”

“Are you sure?” Marshall asks.

Crawford cocks his head in Marshall’s direction as he answers. “Yep. Someone who has been here a lot, probably lives here.”

“Thanks for sharing, I should have thought to ask if you could weigh in on this” Bob says honestly. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Crawford gives a jaunty little salute and then heads out of the house with Marshall following. Frank shares a look with Adam and then they continue on their way. Along the stairs he sees framed photographs hanging on the walls and one in particular catches his interest. It’s a family portrait. The three from downstairs are in it, but there’s a fourth teenager as well. He looks a little older than the other one. The whole family is smiling and it doesn’t feel the least bit strained.

“Do you ever stop feeling sorry for them?” Adam asks.

“Nope.”

“I like it when our cases don’t have to deal with dead folks.”

“Me too, kid, me too.”

They go into the first room at the top of the stairs. It turns out to be one of the teenagers’ bedrooms. There are band and movie posters plastered across the walls. Against one wall is a small amp with a bass guitar plugged in and headphones sitting on top. There’s also a desk with a laptop open and by the blinking light apparently on standby. Frank walks over to it and moves the mouse. After a moment the screen lights up and he’s surprised to see himself on the screen and it takes him just a moment to realize there’s webcam on.

“Kid must have been talking to someone,” Frank tells Adam.

“Hey, if we’re lucky maybe he was recording something and we can get a shot of the killer,” Adam replies.

Frank knows enough about computers to get by, but the whole webcam thing and putting recorded things on the internet, well that’s just a bit beyond him. “We’ll take the computer and let Brendon check it over. Who knows what he might find.”

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything,” Adam says. Frank can hear him taking pictures behind him. “It’s almost like they went down there of their own free will and sat there while they were murdered.”

“Crawford did mention he smelled dark magic. If the killer used a paralyzing spell they might have done just that,” Frank reasons.

“Speaking of, what do you think about the new kid?” Adam asks.

Frank finds that mildly amusing. Other than Jepha and Bob, they’re all kids to Frank. Frank has been on the team the longest and is the senior field agent. He’s seen a lot of kids come and go, but he’s starting to think that maybe, just maybe Bob has finally found the right team members to make it work. If Frank’s gut instincts about Crawford are worth anything anyway, which they might not be since he never saw the recent betrayals coming, but he’s not going to let himself think about those mistakes just yet. Still too sore a subject.

“He seems cool so far. It must be strange for him to have a case without getting to know the team, but he seems to be making it work,” Frank says. “He could work out.”

“Wonder what made him transfer.”

“Dunno, but I bet we’ll find out when he’s ready to tell us,” Frank says back. “C’mon Sisky, focus on the job.”

“I am,” Adam says a little indignantly and Frank hears two quick clicks of the camera that he knows are meant to emphasize that. “Do you think Bob is going to keep him? I mean, didn’t he hand pick the rest of us?”

“I think he doesn’t have a choice,” Frank replies as he looks around the room. There’s really nothing out of place, nothing to suggest a struggle or that the owner of the room didn’t leave on his own free will. “Pete put him on the team, it must have been for a reason. Who knows, it’s Pete.”

“Maybe because he’s a werewolf? To, y’know, help Marshall?”

Frank shoots the younger man a look. “You’d probably better make sure that suspicion doesn’t get back to Marshall. You know he would appreciate Pete giving him a babysitter.”

“So in other words, don’t tell Cash that?”

Frank laughs a little. “Pretty much.”

Frank likes Cash and all, but the younger agent can try even Jepha’s patience at times and there’s not really much that gets to Jepha. And keeping anything a secret is really, really, not Cash’s forte. The only time Cash keeps knowledge to himself is for blackmail, which he has over most of the department, and when he’s interrogating suspects. Frank is actually pretty impressed with Cash’s interrogation skills, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when he tells Cash that.

They finish in the room and go on to the next. In every room they find no sign of a struggle or any indication that the family didn’t go down to the living room and sit there complacently. It’s disconcerting. Frank hopes that the rest of the team has more luck.

**^^^^**

The jogger hasn’t showered yet, that’s the first thing Marshall notices. It’s only the second thing that he’s smelled over the vapor rub and she smells so strongly of sweat that he almost gags. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Crawford glance at him while they’re talking. Marshall just tries not to focus on the fact that a month ago he would have noticed other things first, like the ear buds in her ears indicating she’s been listening to music while running and the fact that she picked a good brand of shoes for running. Those are things investigators notice, not the fact that she smells terrible.

**^^^^**

“So, you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” Jepha asks the couple standing in front of him.

“Ny, they come home t’gether and that it,” the man says, his goblin accent thick. The woman says something that Jepha doesn’t understand, because he’s not versed in goblin at all. “Oldest boy come home eessha, eh, what word, ah..late, yes late.”

Jepha nods and takes some notes. He wishes just for a moment that Adam was with him. Adam is the only one left on the team that can speak all the supernatural languages. After all this time there are still many members of the various races that haven’t relearned English, some just because they don’t want to. It can make communication difficult and frustrating.

“Do you know what time?”

The man cocks his head, big fan-like ears twitching. “What?”

“Time, what time?” Jepha asks and points to his watch.

“Ah, kaava,” the man says in understanding. He looks at the woman and says something to her, presumably asking the same question. “She say, ah, two-thirty.”

Jepha makes another note. “Anything else you can think of, anything at all?”

“Ny, is it.”

“Okay, thank you for your time,” Jepha says. He thinks hard, back to the things Branden had taught him years ago. “Taaat shu.”

“Aggasi, and sorry, I am still working on my English.”

“You’re doing great, I’m sure you’ll be speaking it like it’s your first language soon enough.”

The goblin couple steps back into their home and shut the door. Jepha takes a deep breath and walks back down the path to the sidewalk. He’s talked to all the neighbors and no one saw anything out of the ordinary. They all said that the Connors were like typical hobgoblins, nocturnal to limit contact with humans. Jepha kind of hated typical. Typical usually made his job more difficult.

“Hey, any luck?” Marshall asks him as Jepha approaches where the rest of the team is gathering.

“Not really, neighbors didn’t see any strangers coming or going,” Jepha replies. “They kept nighttime hours like most hobgoblins. The goblins across the street said that the oldest boy came home around two-thirty.”

“Did we get a time of death from McCracken?” Frank asks. Jepha notes that Frank has a laptop tucked under his arm.

“No,” Bob says as he approaches them. “Load up.”

Jepha falls in beside Bob at the back of the group. Frank is only a few steps ahead, but Jepha isn’t worried about Frank overhearing anything he says to Bob. Frank knows his true nature too.

“There was definitely dark magic in there,” Jepha tells his team leader. “I think Ian has it right, I think it was a paralyzing spell.”

“Jepha,” Bob growls.

“I didn’t tap any power, Bob, chill. It was strong enough for me to feel,” Jepha assures Bob quickly.

Jepha can feel Bob’s eyes boring holes into the side of his head, but true to his nature, Bob doesn’t say anything. It something Jepha likes about Bob. 

When they reach the SUV the seats are already mostly taken, only one seat beside Adam is left open for Jepha. Jepha climbs in and gets settled in time to see Bob kick Frank out of the driver’s seat. Why Frank even still attempts to drive is beyond Jepha, but he’s really thankful that Bob intervened. Frank is fond of calling medians “super speed bumps” and after almost killing them all during a chase, well, no one is keen on Frank ever being behind the wheel of the vehicle they’re in. Ever.

Jepha gets himself settled in and glances at Adam, just a quick check to make sure his teammate is buckled in. He notices that Adam is looking a little pale, maybe even with a tinge of green. Concerned, Jepha reaches out and puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder. His younger teammate jerks in surprise then looks over, giving a weary smile.

“Are you okay?” Jepha asks.

“Yeah, just, that was probably the goriest crime scene I’ve ever been to,” Adam says.

Jepha really wishes he could say it was the goriest he’d ever seen. He shudders a little just thinking about the scene on the top of his most disgusting cases. It had been enough to make Frank lose his lunch, and Frank was rarely bothered by anything.

“I’d say try not to think about it, but I know how hard that can be when it’s something burned into your mind,” Jepha says.

Adam laughs a little. “More like burned into the back of my eyes.”

“It’ll go away with time.”

“Or until you see something worse,” Frank speaks up from the passenger seat.

“Or that,” Jepha agrees.

“I don’t want to see anything worse than that.”

“Want me to tell you about the time some gremlins---.”

“Frank!”

**^^^^**

“You should try not using the vapor rub tomorrow.”

Marshall glances over at Crawford as they follow the rest of the team through the parking lot.

“You’ll find that there’s a lot you can learn through smell alone,” Crawford goes on.

Marshall’s skin still feels tight and his bones hurt and the last thing he feels like he needs is for a born werewolf to tell him what to do, especially when there’s no way Crawford can possibly know what he’s going through. He can’t imagine what it would be like to be able to smell everyone around him. There’s a least twenty people working in the same room as them and he’s pretty sure the little walls between each bullpen will hardly block anything. He can barely focus on anything being able to smell Crawford, he can’t even imagine what more people might be like.

He’s still trying to figure out what it means that Crawford’s scent is so strong to him, so…alluring almost. The wolf stirs every time he takes in a deep breath. It makes his head fuzzy and he’d like to put some space between them just to be able to think. He’s pretty sure though that Bob is going to stick them together for obvious reasons, though.

Marshall’s not stupid. He knows exactly why Director Wentz assigned Crawford to their team and it doesn’t really have anything to do with the recently vacant slot. Normally Bob would have filled the position and they all know he was waiting to do that until they were ready for a new teammate. The sting is still too fresh for all of them. It’s too soon.

Crawford is here because Marshall is a newly turned werewolf and Wentz wants someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he adjusts properly to the change. Sometimes people turned against their will just…don’t adjust. It’s not a good situation for anyone. Still, Marshall doesn’t need a damn babysitter.

**^^^^**

Adam stops and takes a deep breath. He volunteered to bring the evidence to the lab (with Cash smirking at him knowingly) but he was kind of regretting coming alone. Of course, asking for someone to accompany him probably would have resulted in someone (Cash) poking fun at him. He can already hear the taunts that will follow if he chickens out now.

When he doesn’t feel like his heart is going to beat out of his chest he goes around the corner into the lab. He grins despite his nerves as he sees the Butcher dancing with his skeleton on wheels. To his own continuing amusement, Butcher doesn’t stop dancing when he spots Adam. Instead he only smiles wider and spins around quickly.

“Sisky Business,” Butcher calls happily. “Tell me you have something for me.”

Adam laughs. “I do! I have a box full of fun for you and Brendon.”

Brendon, who was busy playing a computer game on one of his many computers, looks up and grins. “Hell yeah, I already finished cracking the hard drive Spencer brought me and I’m bored.”

“You’re playing World of Warcraft, you can’t be too bored,” Butcher points out. Brendon shrugs.

Butcher takes the box from Adam’s arms and sets it on the island counter. He lifts out bags of evidence, various things that the team had found. At the bottom he pulls out the laptop and hands it off to Brendon. Adam’s heart skips a little beat when Butcher shares a grin with him at Brendon’s obvious excitement. Watching the technopath geek out will never not be fun.

The most embarrassing thing is that he knows that Butcher can hear his heartbeat. Being a vampire, Butcher has senses that are a hundred times better than any humans. Adam is just grateful that he doesn’t comment on anything, but he knows it’s only so long before it becomes impossible to ignore. Cash and Frank keep telling him to stop being a pussy and get the balls to make a move.

It’s funny because Adam has never been the nervous or shy type. Whenever there’s been someone he’s wanted, he’s never been afraid or ashamed of making a move. It’s always worked out pretty well for him and he’s never had any reason to believe that he can’t get whoever he wants. He has no reason to doubt that Butcher wants him too, partly because he’s seen Butcher looking back.

Yet, there’s something about the way his heart flutters in Butcher’s presence that’s completely different. He almost feels a magnetic pull towards the vampire whenever they’re in close proximity. His mouth goes dry and he almost forgets how to speak. He knows it means something, but he doesn’t want to act until he’s sure.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Adam approaches Butcher. “So, doing anything tonight?”

“I’ll probably be going over this stuff until late,” Butcher says, looking through the bags.

Adam looks at the rather small pile. He’s seen Butcher work through twice that in less time than he’s saying this pile will take.

“Are you feeling okay? That’s not a whole lot, you could have that done in a few hours.”

“I’m fine,” Butcher replies.

Adam blinks a few times and takes a step back. If there’s one thing in the world he’s good at its reading people. Butcher is still smiling, but Adam can detect a bit of an edge to it. Not only that, Butcher’s whole body language is screaming that he’s uncomfortable and trying to hide it. Considering Butcher has never looked anything but at ease, playful even, around Adam the only thing he can think is that Butcher gets what he was trying to do and is not up for it.

“Okay, well, I should probably get back upstairs.”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything useful,” Butcher says with a grin that’s definitely relieved.

“Thanks.”

Adam hightails it out of there and tries not to notice Brendon’s look of sympathy as he goes. He really wishes there weren’t any witnesses to Butcher turning him down. Brendon is likely to tell the whole building. By the time Adam gets back to the bullpen there’ll be a department wide e-mail letting everyone know how Butcher shot Adam down. Cash will be laughing, Frank will smirk, and Marshall will maybe be sympathetic.

“Stupid,” Adam says, thumping his head against the wall around the corner from the lab. “Stupidstupidstupid.”

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.”

Adam jumps in surprise and turns his head to see Special Agent William Beckett standing behind him. He’s got an external hard drive in his hands and a slightly amused look on his face.

“I’m just getting a head start,” Adam tells him. “I’m sure I’m going to hear lots of it from everyone.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out,” he motions back toward the lab. “I’m sure Brendon’s already get the e-mail out to everyone.”

“Maybe I want to hear it from you,” William says in reply.

William and Adam are old friends. They went through training together and had been on a team at one time before bad things had happened and they’d ended up being put onto separate teams. They’ve been through a lot together and Adam can at least give his friend that much.

“I tried asking Andy out and he shut me down.”

William’s eyebrows draw up in confusion. “Why would he do that? I know he’s interested.”

“I don’t know,” Adam says. He takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Well, no matter, we’re working a case right now and I’m sure Bob will chew me out if I don’t get back there.”

He starts to go around William and head for the elevators, but his friend grabs his arm. “Hey, if he isn’t willing to take a chance on you that’s his lose.”

“Yeah, thanks Bill.”

**^^^^**

The press gets a hold of the Connors’ story and it’s all over the TV by lunch time. The team winces as they listen to Bob chew out the local cops who were supposed to keep the scene locked down. Bob doesn’t yell, but his words cut like knives.

**^^^^***

Marshall hates the morgue. He used to hate it because he was unnerved by all the dead bodies. Now he hates it because of the smell. It’s the first thing he’s smelled through the vapor rub other than Crawford and it is definitely a less pleasant smell. His stomach turns a little and he has to fight back his gag reflex. Smells have never effected him so strongly, but then he’s never been able to smell like this before.

He’s almost distracted by the smell from how much Crawford talks. He’s been asking questions and making small talk since they were assigned to talk to the neighbors together. He talks almost as much as Brendon and isn’t that a frightening thought? He’s never going to get any work done now.

“Terrible smell, right?” Crawford says from beside him as they step out of the elevator. “Few things smell worse than a morgue.”

“How can you stand it?” Marshall asks without thinking.

“Well, seeing as how I was born a werewolf I’ve been able to control my senses for a very long time now,” Crawford replies. “You’d have to talk to another turned wolf to find that out.”

“That’s helpful,” Marshall mutters. Then curses himself because it’s not the new guy’s fault that his heart and head are pounding and his senses are making everything worse, more.

“It’ll get easier. I’ve got a few friends who are turned wolves and they eventually got used to it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They enter the morgue to find the ghouls all standing over a corpse poking and prodding at the insides and jabbering excitedly in ghoulish. Marshall doesn’t know ghoulish, has never learned and never been interested in learning. It’s not a pretty language and thankfully not a common one so it’s never been necessary. It does mean that they have to trust the translation of Dan Whitesides, which is less than encouraging.

“Have you found anything or have you been too busy eating the evidence?” Marshall asks. There’s no greeting, just right down to business. Marshall wants to be out of here as quickly as possible.

All three ghouls look up and Quinn says something that’s probably unflattering in ghoulish, but it’s Dan that actually addresses them. “You go away. Send Bryar or Jepha.”

“Special Agent Bryar sent us to find out the cause of death and if you’ve found anything useful,” Marshall replies.

Bert says something, face twisted into a sneer, and Dan snickers. “Cause of death is obvious. They gutted like fish.”

“And of course you haven’t found anything that wasn’t already obvious,” Marshall states, then under his breath, “filthy animals.”

Quinn starts to look decidedly less human and Bert’s eyes are going redder and redder. Even Dan, who usually stands up well under snide remarks like that, is starting to look a little pissed off. Marshall tries to get his emotions back under control. He won’t survive if the three ghouls decide to say screw it to their contract with Wentz and attack.

“What he means to say,” Crawford speaks up, “is that anything you may have found during your autopsy would be really helpful to us in solving this case.”

Dan cocks his head and says something to the other two. Whatever he says seems to calm them. Bert rattles off something that Dan repeats dutifully.

“We find nothing yet. Page you when we do.”

“Thank you,” Crawford says. “By the way, I’m Special Agent Ian Crawford, I was just assigned to this team.”

Marshall leaves as Dan is saying something in reply, probably introducing himself and the other two. He doesn’t go far, just stands outside and waits for Crawford. Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long. Crawford exits soon after with an easy smile on his face, but troubled eyes.

“So, what was that?” Crawford asks curiously.

“What was what?”

“I thought they were going to tear you to pieces.”

“I do my best to avoid those things,” Marshall replies. “Usually I don’t come down here, but for some reason Bob thought I should be the one to show you the morgue.”

“Those things,” Crawford repeats. “what’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

Marshall stalks toward the elevator. “I meant to say those ghouls.”

“What’s your problem with ghouls?” Crawford asks curiously.

Marshall has nightmares of a room covered in blood, bodies half eaten. He feels flesh warmed chains biting into his skin and hears the tortured scream of those being eaten alive.

“Look,” Marshall sighs, “Word of advice—maybe wait til you’ve worked here five minutes before you expect us not to see you as the new kid.”

Marshall isn’t actually watching Crawford as he’s talking so he doesn’t see Crawford’s reaction to his words. He smells it though, through the vapor rub and the terrible morgue stench. Crawford’s scent, which has been the most appealing thing to him for hours, takes on a slightly sour smell. He feels like it’s pretty appropriate for what just happened.

**^^^^**

“Atotlli cahn kai.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak goblin, can you say that in English for me?” Bob asks politely.

The voice on the other line gets angry and indignant and after a minute of listening to ranting in a language he’s never learned, Bob hangs up. Sometimes he wonders what the world was like before the Reawakening, when magic wasn’t a driving force for the world and there was nothing but average humans, plants, and animals. Sometimes he wonders if life was easier. Sure he’s read the history books, heard stories from various races about Before, but they’re just that-stories. They describe a world far less diverse and truthfully, a lot less interesting. But also a lot less dangerous and sometimes Bob wishes he could experience that even for just a short time.

It’s not something he lets himself think about often and he pushes it to the back of his mind when he does. It doesn’t do him any good to dwell on something that he can’t change. For better or worse the Reawakening happened and the world will never be what it once was.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Bob blinks and looks at Frank, who is sitting with one hip on Bob’s desk. A quick glance shows the rest of the team is hard at work and not paying any attention. “My thoughts cost more than a penny.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Frank says in return.

“I wasn’t thinking anything important, Frank. You should be focusing on the case,” Bob says. He nods toward Frank’s desk.

Frank frowns. “You can still talk to me, y’know, or is that too personal for a team leader too?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bob--.”

“Frank.”

Bob doesn’t feel the least bit bad when Frank growls and storms away. Okay, maybe he feels a little bad. Frank has been trying to pick up the pieces of what they used to be and shape it into some sort of functional working relationship, friendship even. Bob thinks it’d just be less painful for them both if Frank would just let go.

“Got something,” Marshall says as he stands up. “The boys attended Whitmoore Academy.”

“That’s a pretty expensive private school,” Adam notes. “Didn’t you go there, sir?”

“Yes,” Bob says shortly. He doesn’t want this to turn into a history lesson. “Alright Marshall, take Crawford with you and go see what you can find out.”

Bob doesn’t miss the way Marshall deflates just slightly when he tells him to take Crawford. He hopes they don’t have problems already. There’s no time in their line of work for personal feelings to get in the way. He’s already made that mistake.

The phone on Bob’s desk rings then and he quickly snatches it up, “Bryar.”

“I’ve got a hit off a fingerprint,” Butcher’s unmistakable voice says. “Brendon’s sending the file up to you.”

“Good work,” Bob says and hangs up. He presses a few buttons and seconds later the large view screen between Cash and Marshall’s desks has a file opened up on it. “Everybody listen up.”

He watches as his team ends whatever phone calls or conversations they were having and give him their undivided attention.

“This is Jeremy Michaels and it was his fingerprint we found at the crime scene,” Bob explains.

“Wow, he’s quite the little criminal, isn’t he?” Cash muses.

Bob has to agree. Michaels has a rap sheet longer than Bob’s arm, but they’re all limited to misdemeanors and petty crimes. The most recent is an arrest for being drunk in public. Michaels is also a troll, which means lots of strength and little smarts. Trolls are creatures of habit, because they lack creativity, and therefore if Michaels hasn’t actually committed a truly violent crime yet then it’s almost a sure thing that he’s not going to. At least, not intentionally.

“I wouldn’t call him little,” Jepha says. “He’s easily twice your size and we all know what trolls can be like.”

Bob studies the suspect’s file for a moment. They’re obviously going to have to bring Michaels in. Bob doesn’t feel any prejudice toward any race, but if there was one that he dreads dealing with it’s trolls.

“Jepha, Adam, come with me. The rest of you keep working,” Bob orders.

Bob doesn’t wait to see if they follow his orders, he knows they will. He heads for the elevator down to the parking garage. Jepha and Adam step in right behind him and the doors slide closed with a ding. Bob pushes the button for the garage and leans back against the wall.

“You speak troll, don’t you?” Jepha asks Adam. Trolls are notorious for not trying to learn any human language.

“Yeah, I speak everything, remember?” Adam replies. Bob remembers this. It’s why he’s going with them to get the troll instead of Cash or even Frank.

“Oh, yeah, sometimes I just…forget things,” Jepha replies.

Bob frowns to himself, but doesn’t let any of it show on his face. Jepha doesn’t forget anything, it’s all show. Bob knows why he hides it, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

They get down to the garage and pile into the government issued SUV. Bob briefly wonders if more of his team should be going with them to confront a troll, but decides they need to keep working other angles. There’s no way to know if Michaels even has anything to do with the murders and they can’t waste everyone’s time on one lead. With that in mind he backs the SUV out of the parking spot and drives toward the exit. They all have to flash their badges at the checkpoint and then they’re on their way.

Bob is silent during the drive, listening to his two underlings talking out the case. He’s been in the SCIU for years and he’s rarely seen anything as sadistic and gruesome as the murder of this hobgoblin family. For the moment there doesn’t even seem to be a point to it. The house doesn’t appear to have been robbed and the level of cruelty that was displayed by the murderer is both senseless and seemingly pointless.

“This was a very organized kill,” Adam says. “This was planned out, every step was deliberate. No forced entry so the family just let the killer right in. Means it’s someone they knew and trusted.”

“Someone who either has magical abilities or has access to magic,” Jepha adds. “There was definitely a paralyzing spell used.”

At that moment Bob’s phone rings. He answers it and puts it on speakerphone.

“Frank, what have you got?”

Frank’s voice is loud in the car. “I’m looking at the autopsy report. There were no defensive wounds and no hesitation marks. All the cuts were made with a precise and unwavering hand.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, the T.O.D was approximately two-thirty A.M. and it’s confirmed that a paralyzing spell was used. That family sat there and watched as they were slaughtered one by one with the father being the last to die.”

“Alright,” Bob says, then pauses for a moment to think. “Check the records and see if any cases like this have been reported in the past.”

“That’s a good idea,” Adam speaks up. “This level of sophistication and sadism just can’t be a first time offense. This is not this guy’s first kill.”

“Right, I’ll get Brendon on that,” Frank says.

“Have Cash try and track down Justin Connors, he could very well be a suspect or victim, and go back to the neighborhood to ask if the Connors had regular visitors. Adam thinks the killer is probably someone they knew and trusted.”

“You got it.”

Bob hangs up and focuses on driving again. It’s not too much longer before they pull up in front of a rundown apartment complex. The buildings are old and falling apart, years of disrepair strikingly obvious. Between the two buildings is a large yard where children are playing a game of football. A group of adults is sitting at a bench talking and keeping an eye on the youngsters. 

“Are we expecting this guy to get violent?” Adam asks.

Bob throws a glance at the younger agent. “You’re the profiler, you tell me.”

“There haven’t been too many violent crimes in his past, just a few bar fights really. But trolls can be unpredictable and if he thinks we might be taking him back to prison he could very well get violent. And if he’s been drinking his probability of getting violent will go up.”

It’s pretty much the profile Bob would have come up. He knows Adam could do better if they had more information, if he could analyze Michael’s apartment and Michaels himself. He’s hoping that Adam’s profiling ability might help them deal with Michaels in a way that doesn’t include violence and handcuffs. But if Michaels is guilty of this crime then there won’t be avoiding any violence as soon as the troll realizes they’re on to him.

Bob has the other two stand behind him as he knocks. He’s the biggest and he wants to show a strong front. He has to knock twice before there’s the soft rumble of approaching footsteps and the door swings open. Bob has to look up, way up, at the eight foot tall troll and he feels a spike of dread twist in his stomach. The troll is broad shouldered and robust with lank blond hair and a smell so bad Bob almost expects to see flies buzzing around. He’s got an overbite and a very unfriendly scowl on his face and Bob doesn’t have to be a psychic to know that things aren’t going to go well.

“Jeremy Michaels?” Bob asks.

“What it to ya?” the troll rumbles.

“Mr. Michaels, I’m Special Agent Bryar, these are my colleagues, Special Agent Howard and Special Agent Siska and we’re with the SCIU,” Bob says, motioning to each of them in turn. “We have a few questions for you.”

“Done nothin’, go ‘way,” Michaels growls and starts to shut the door.

“Mr. Michaels, you want to answer our questions,” Bob says simply.

Michaels hesitates briefly, clearly hearing the underlying threat. His yellow eyes bore into Bob’s and Bob doesn’t blink. He’s stared down a dragon before, this troll is hardly as threatening. Bob can see him tensing up, getting ready for something, and then Adam speaks up. To his credit the kid sounds calm. Bob has no idea what Adam says in troll, but Michaels relaxes a little more and then after a minute steps out of the apartment. Michaels is big enough that he has to bend his head to get out of the doorway and the hallway is uncomfortably crowded with him out there.

“What you want ask?” Michaels demands.

“Mr. Michaels, do you know the Connors family?” Bob asks.

Bob has just enough time to see Michaels tense and then the troll lashes out. Adam flies down the hall, probably knocked unconscious by that single hit. Bob reaches for his gun, but Michaels punches him in the shoulder hard enough to dislocate it and then wraps a beefy hand around Bob’s neck. He squeezes tight and glares over Bob’s shoulder at Jepha. Bob gags and struggles as he’s lifted off his feet.

“Put gun down!” Michaels bellows. “Put down or I snap neck!’

Bob tries to kick at Michaels, tries to scratch the trolls arm, tries everything he can to get free but it’s no use. There’s black dots floating in his vision and he’s rapidly losing strength.

“Alright, I’ll put my gun down, but you have to stop choking him,” Jepha says. 

“You turn towards wall, palms flat,” Michaels orders as he grip loosens enough for Bob to breathe again. 

He does so, choking and coughing and trying desperately to think of how to get out of this mess. He regrets not bringing the Cobras with him or something, but Michaels isn’t red flagged and they weren’t actually arresting him so the task force wouldn’t have been justified.

“Listen Jeremy, you’re just making things worse for yourself,” Jepha says calmly.

“I say turn around!”

“You’re already going to be red flagged for this, you don’t want to add an order of execution too, because you know that’s what will happen if you kill us,” Jepha continues. “They’ll send a death squad after you and you won’t get away.”

Bob can feel a faint tremor in Michael’s hand. Michaels doesn’t want to kill them, he can tell, but something has him spooked and he may just do it out of fear. Bob’s shoulder is burning like molten fire and his throat feels like it’s still squeezed shut even though he can breathe again. With his feet off the ground and unable to reach his weapon, Bob can’t really do anything to help. He can only pray that Jepha can diffuse the situation.

“I don’t wanna die,” Michaels says, voice trembling with the fear he’s feeling.

“Put him down and surrender, that’s the only course of action that doesn’t end with you dead,” Jepha coaxes. “I don’t want them to kill you, Jeremy, but you’re going to leave them no choice.”

“No, I won’t go back ta prison,” Michaels and starts to squeeze Bob’s neck again.

There’s the unmistakably loud crack of a gunshot from Adam’s direction and Michaels bellows as his elbow explodes in blood and bone fragments. Bob’s feet touch the floor for only a moment before Michaels grabs him with the other hand and throws him down the hall at Adam. They go down in a painful pile and Bob’s dislocated shoulders screams with agony.

“Enough,” Jepha bellows. His voice is unlike anything Bob has ever heard, deep and resonating as if backed by a deep power.

“Demorru,” Michaels says, breathless and fearful.

Bob manages to untangle himself from Adam in time to see Michaels drop to his knees and bow at Jepha’s feet. There’s an aura of black around Jepha, pulsing and throbbing like something living and wild. Bob stares in shock. He’s known Jepha’s true nature for years, but he’s never seen him display his power so obviously before. The air in the hall is cold and Bob shivers.

“What the hell?” Adam breathes in disbelief.

Bob shakes himself out of his stupor. “Go handcuff Michaels and call in a transport unit.”

“And an ambulance.”

“For yourself.”

“And you,” Adam insists.

“No,” Bob growls. He coughs and winces at the soreness in his throat. 

When the ambulance shows up, Jepha talks Bob into going with them.

**^^^^**

**^^^^**

Whitmoore Academy is a very old boarding school, but it’s been so meticulously taken care of over the years that one wouldn’t know by looking at it. Marshall doesn’t know all the details, but he does know that one has to have a lot of money to attend and that most of the boarders and day/night students are supernaturals. The Connors’ didn’t really live the kind of lifestyle that would have suggested having the kind of money to send their kids to Whitmoore.

“Wow,” Crawford says, mildly impressed.

Marshall parks the car in one of the guest spaces and leads the way up the path to the main building. He looks around has he goes. There are some students sitting under a tree with books on their laps doing homework. A few more are throwing a football around. They’re loud and rowdy and it takes all his of his focus not to get lost in the assault on his senses. He wonders if any of these kids were friends with Lance or if they know where Justin is.

As Marshall reaches for the door it swings open and almost hits him in the face. A tall woman with long light brown hair and elegantly pointed ears steps out. Her brown eyes are sharp and calculating, but there’s a welcoming smile on her face. He’s not too surprised that she knew they were coming as she probably has wards laced through the property to alert her of visitors and if any of the students try to leave the grounds without permission.

“Gentlemen, I’m Head Mistress Vahlra what can I do for you?” she greets them.

Familiar with elf customs, Marshall places his hand over his heart and bows slightly at the waist. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Marshall and this is Special Agent Crawford with the SCIU. We need to talk to you about two of your students.”

“You would be speaking of Justin and Lance Connors?”

“Yes ma’am,” Marshall says. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?”

“Certainly, follow me,” Vahlra says.

As Marshall follows her he vaguely finds himself wondering what she smells like. He’s actually curious to know how an elf might smell different than a human or any other race. Of course, he still can’t smell anything but Crawford over the vapor rub. He can smell Crawford so clearly that’s almost another distraction, partly because he doesn’t understand what the changes in Crawford’s scent mean.

They enter an office and Vahlra moves to sit behind an old, but elegant desk. “Please, sit.”

Crawford looks to him for direction and since Marshall is pretty sure they’re not going to need to use intimidation tactics on her he nods toward one of the chairs in front of the desk. They both sit down and Kahlra offers them a friendly smile, waiting patiently.

“Ma’am, how well did you know the Connors?” Marshall asks.

“I did not know them that well,” Vahlra says, and sounds honestly remorseful about that. “The two boys, Justin and Lance had only just started as night students here the beginning of this semester. The news says that Justin was not with them?”

“That’s right ma’am,” Marshall affirms. There’s obviously no point in denying it, though it’s one point of the case that he wishes the press didn’t shout to the world. “We’re looking for him.”

“I hope that you find him and that he is well, though I fear his reaction to these events,” Vahlra says.

“Did Justin or Lance have any friends here?” Crawford asks.

“Oh, I am sure that they did, but I do not spend enough time with the students to know the details of their friendships,” Vahlra answers. “However, I can give you their schedules and you may speak with their teachers. I am quite sure that they would know such things better than I.”

“That would be helpful, ma’am, thank you,” Marshall says respectfully. She tilts her head in acknowledgement and types something into her computer.

Marshall wishes everyone could be as helpful as Vahlra.

**^^^^**

The neighborhood is quiet, predicatably so, when Frank returns. It’s day time and most of the neighborhood, being hobgoblins, are asleep. Frank decides to look for some sign of life before knocking. He doesn’t want to wake any of the hobgoblins up, they’ll be less than helpful if they’re disturbed. It’s dangerous enough for him as a human to be dealing with all these powerful supernaturals, he doesn’t plan on making it harder on himself by being stupid.

He parks the car and gets out with the intention of just walking around and seeing if he can find anyone useful. There are some local cops parked outside the Connors’ home so he decides to stop by and see if they can help. The car is a dwarf model police car, just a little smaller than the average. The officer in the driver’s seat is an old, grizzled dwarf with a beard so long he’s got it wrapped around his torso twice while the officer in the passenger seat is a younger dwarf with a beard only as long as Frank’s arm.

“Officers,” Frank greets.

“Afternoon, sir,” the veteran cop greets in return. “What can we do for ye?”

“Oh, I just wondered if you’ve observed any activity around here? Maybe help me out on which doors I can knock on and which I can’t?”

“A’course, mostly there’re hobgoblins around here,” the veteran says. His accent is thick, but Frank has had many dealings with dwarves and can understand him just fine. “That house over yonder has a human family, the master o’the house already left, but the Missus is still there.”

“And there’s an elf in that house there, seen him walkin’ about already,” the other officer speaks up, pointing out a house.

“Other’n that you’re on your own, sir.”

Frank smiles, “Thanks fellas.”

“No problem, sir.”

Frank straightens up (he only had to lean down a little bit, being a short guy himself) and heads for the human house. He’s not ready to deal with the elf. He doesn’t really have a whole lot of love for most elves, because of their tendency to be arrogant toward others. Especially nulls. A lot of the races can detect (through sight, smell, or other sense) nulls and for reason Frank doesn’t understand nulls are considered…less.

He knocks sharp and loud and waits. His badge is attached to his belt for easy viewing, so that people will know they’re talking to an SCIU Special Agent right off the bat. It also means he doesn’t have to dig it out each time, which is a bonus.

When the door opens Frank is looking up, so he’s a little surprised when a voice comes from below. “Who are you?”

Looking down, Frank sees a little boy with a messy mop of brown hair watching him with big brown eyes peaking out from behind the door. The little boy is standing so that the door is only cracked open and most of his body is still hidden. Frank grins and cocks his hip a little to display his badge.

“My name’s Frank, what’s yours?”

The little boy’s eyes widen even further. “I’m Tommy. Are you here to take my momma away?”

“No way, big guy,” Frank says, trying not to show how the question throws him a bit. “I’d just like to talk to your mom actually.”

“’Kay, ‘cause, if you were trying to take my momma I’d have to shoot you,” Tommy says and opens the door enough to show off his toy gun.

Frank grins. “We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“Tommy, who are you talking to?” A sweet female voice speaks from behind Tommy.

“A policeman, momma. He wants to ask you some questions, but he’s not gonna take you away ‘cause then I’d have to shoot him,” Tommy replies.

“Tommy!” The door opens wider and the woman comes into view. She smiles apologetically at Frank. “Go watch cartoons.”

Frank watches as Tommy trots off, then turns his attention to Tommy’s mother. “How old is he?”

“Five. I’m sorry about that officer, he watches too much TV,” She answers.

“It’s no problem, he’s cute,” Frank says. “He’s right, I just want to ask you a few questions about the Connors.”

The woman glances inside then steps out and shuts the door. “It’s horrifying to think that something like that happened here.”

“Don’t worry….” Frank trails off in the age old ploy for finding out someone’s name.

“Dana.”

“Don’t worry, Dana. We’ll find who did this,” Frank assures her. “And you can help by just telling me what you know about them. Did they have a lot of visitors? Maybe the same ones more than once?”

Dana frowns in thought and Frank waits patiently. At this point anything that she knows could be useful. It’s Frank’s experience that often times people see more than they think they do.

“I do remember seeing the same troll come and visit more than once,” Dana says. “I remember because he always arrived with nothing and left with a duffle bag. I only saw him because most nights I’m up late waiting for Jack to get home.”

That would be Jeremy Michaels, Frank thinks to himself. “That’s very helpful, Dana. Anything else?”

“Every once and a while a group of orcs would show up and I got a bad feeling from them, but they didn’t come around often,” Dana says. “Do you think they could have done this?”

Frank wouldn’t be surprised if orcs did do it, but he doesn’t think so. Ocs don’t use paralyzing spells, they use fear. There would have been too much noise for neighbors to ignore and the family would have fought. Orcs don’t know the meaning of the word stealth. This wasn’t orcs.

“I can’t really discuss the details with you, but I really do thank you for your help,” Frank says politely.

“Special Agent…” Dana trails off.

Frank grins to himself. “Call me Frank.”

“Frank, my neighbors were brutally murdered just across the street from me. I have a five year old and another on the way, I don’t care about the details. Tell me my family is safe.”

“Ma’am…Dana, we honestly don’t know anything yet, but I’m going to leave you my number and if you feel at any time like you and your family are in danger, you call me and I’ll be here with a TAU squad as quick as I possibly can manage it,” Frank assures her. He digs a card out of a patch on the back of his badge and hands it to her. “I have to talk to another of your neighbors now, but you keep this on you at all times and don’t hesitate to call.”

She takes the card and slips it into her pocket. “Thank you, Frank.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.”

Frank smiles as she steps back inside her house. In the window he can see Tommy waving at him. Frank grins and waves back. There are some parts of his job that he enjoys.

Feeling better than he has all day, Frank heads a little ways down the sidewalk to another house. He decides that if the elf is rude he won’t let that change his good mood. That tends to piss people off quicker anyway.

He raises his hand and knocks and to his surprise the door opens a little. A chill slides down his spine and his skin prickles, hairs standing on end. Instantly his heart is galloping a mile a minute and he draws his gun.

“SCIU, is everything all right in here?” Frank calls.

There’s no response. Gun ready, Frank pushes the door open further and steps inside. His heart is beating so hard he almost can’t hear anything else, but he keeps his wits about him. 

“Federal agent, come out where I can see you!”

He knows he’s not alone. He can feel it in his bones that someone is playing hide-and-go-seek with him. He doesn’t have to have a connection to magic to smell the danger, it’s thick in the air and almost tangible.

Frank carefully turns to clear the living room when something hard and metal smacks his gun hand. He grunts in pain as the gun goes skidding across the room. He twists to face the threat and just manages to get his hands up to grab his attacker’s wrists. It’s dark with the shades pulled and Frank can’t see well enough to identify his attacker.

He can feel the other’s strength though, can tell without seeing anything that this person is a supernatural. His attacker twists hard and Frank stumbles into a knee to the solar plexus. Winded he loses his grasp on the weapon, but his instinct makes him duck away. He hears the weapon swing past his face and takes another leap back.

“Not bad for a Fed,” a strangely familiar male voice sneers. “A null at that.”

Frank has been ambushed, but this is nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. His eyes are adjusting to the darkness and he can just see a shape moving in the shadows. Whatever this guy thinks, Frank is not an easy mark. He intends to make this arrogant prick regret choosing the null of the team to target…

**^^^^**

“So, how long until anyone will call me by my first name?” Ian finds himself asking. He and Marshall have just left Whitmoore after talking to several of the teachers and a few students.

In the driver’s seat, Marshall sighs and the car starts to slow. Ian opens his mouth to ask what’s going on when his partner pulls into the parking lot of a little diner. It’s then that Ian realizes just how hungry he actually is and his keen hearing picks up on Marshall’s stomach growling. They’ve gone all day without eating and being werewolves the day after a full moon is when their appetites are at the highest, systems still running flat out. They’ve already talked to the neighbors so they have a little time to grab a bite to eat before heading back to HQ.

There are amazing smells coming out of the diner when the door swings open and an elf holds the door open for them as they go in. Since they’re both on the clock they’ve got guns and badges in full view, so it comes as a shock to Ian when three gnomes at the counter move to offer them seats. It’s been Ian’s experience that most people don’t care for the SCIU or it’s agents.

“Marshall!” A happy voice calls out. A pretty little waitress bounces over to them and grins. “You haven’t been in for a while.”

“I’ve…had some stuff to deal wtih,” Marshall says carefully.

Ian notes that the waitress’s nametag says “TARA” and she smells as happy as she looks to see Marshall. Something in Ian snarls at that, the same something that sat up and took notice the first time he caught Marshall’s scent. That same part of him takes solace in smelling that Marshall is only pleased to see Tara.

“Are you okay?” Tara asks with genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” Marshall replies. “I’m sorry, we don’t really have much time…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she exclaims. “Do you know what you want?”

“BLT no mayo, extra bacon,” Marshall says quickly.

Ian isn’t familiar with the menu, but it’s the day after the full moon and he doesn’t know how Marshall isn’t ordering just a plate of bacon and maybe some ham to go with it. He doesn’t really want to look like a disgusting pig in front of his new co-worker, so Ian opts for a burger with nothing on it and the meat very rare. 

“I’ll tell Chef to make this as fast as possible for you boys,” Tara says, bouncing away.

Ian glances around and takes note of the patrons. The gnomes are at a booth chatting about work and there’s a goblin in a business suit sipping coffee at the end of the bar. No one is paying attention to the fact that two SCIU agents are there. Where he came from humans didn’t like the SCIU let alone supernaturals.

“So, this is the norm around here?” Ian asks.

Marshall frowns. “What?”

“Well, I mean, those gnomes gave us their seats and no one has fled the building yet,” Ian explains.

“Why would they?” Marshall just looks confused.

“That’s been my experience,” Ian replies. “People don’t really like the SCIU.”

“They’re just fine with us around here,” Marshall says like he still just doesn’t get it.

Ian has read Marshall’s file. He knows that Marshall grew up in Las Vegas, a place very open to supernaturals.. There’s a good chance that Marshall really doesn’t get why anyone who wasn’t a criminal would hate the SCIU. Not that Ian thinks Marshall is naïve in any sense of the word. He knows the unfortunate truth that Marshall has learned some very harsh lessons recently, but yet somehow he still believes that SCIU stands for something good in the world and Ian doesn’t want to be the one to tell him that things aren’t that black and white.

Tara returns with some glasses of water before leaving again. Ian slouches on the bar stool and plays with his straw. Beside him, Marshall is just as quiet and Ian realizes that he’s going to have to break the ice. Again.

“So, were you going to answer my question?”

Ian can see Marshall about to ask “what question?” and he knows damn well that Marshall knows which question he’s talking about. He can see it in Marshall’s eyes when the other agent realizes he can’t play dumb. Then for a moment he’s sure he’s not going to get an answer.

“I don’t really know what to tell you,” Marshall finally says. “It was months before Frank called me anything other than ‘kid’, ‘new kid’, or ‘probie’.”

“Is he the one I have to sweet talk then?” Ian asks with a grin.

Marshall shrugs. “I think it’ll depend.”

“On what?”

“How well you fit in.”

And that, Ian thinks, is one of the big roadblocks he faces. There was nothing in any of the files he read before joining the team about their personalities. It was all very clinical information, the bare bones of who they were. Ian’s been flying blind and just doing what he knows how to do best-talk and be friendly. So far he’s learned that Jepha, Marshall and Bob are quiet, Frank talks big, Cash is a loud mouth, and Adam is friendly. He’s not really sure how he fits into that.

Their food comes then and Marshall digs in. He’s eating fast, so Ian follows his example, but that doesn’t stop him from talking.

“Can I ask you another question?”

Marshall sighs, somewhat long suffering, “I guess so.”

“What exactly happened?”

Ian isn’t really all that surprised that Marshall’s response is to take another bite of his sandwich. It’s not like he really expects Marshall to open up to him, but he knows he can probably help Marshall adjust if the other wolf would just let him.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Ian offers. “I understand what you’re going through, especially after your first full moon”

Marshall snorts. “How could you, a born werewolf, possibly understand?”

“I go through the same transformation every full moon, Marshall. Just because it’s all I’ve ever known doesn’t make it any easier. I just wanna help.”

“I…” Marshall winces and looks away. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about this yet, but, thank you.”

Ian could push. He could try and weasel thoughts and feelings out of Marshall, but he knows that won’t do him much good in the long run. The truth is he’s much too invested in Marshall for his own liking, already. It goes beyond his usual friendly concern. It’s something in Marshall’s scent, something in his eyes, something so indefinable that Ian doesn’t even try. He just finds himself wanting to be as close to Marshall as possible in every way possible, to do anything he can to make him happy, to thaw the ice that Marshall’s wariness has put between them. 

It’s not a feeling he’s ever experienced before. He’s never been attracted like this to any of his past boyfriends no matter how wonderful they’ve been. He’s much too afraid of it and what it might mean to prod it, to figure it out. He decides the safe thing to do is to just wait and see what happens, if Marshall feels it too.

Ian’s pretty deep in his thoughts when Marshall’s phone rings. Because of his heightened sense of hearing, Ian can easily listen to both sides of the conversation.

“Michaels got violent when they went for the arrest,” Cash says.

“What happened?” Marshall demands.

“Bob and Sisky are both hurt, but not too seriously. Sisky shot Michaels to stop him,” Cash explains.

Marshall stands up and whips out his wallet. He throws down a twenty and waves to Tara before heading for the door. Ian stands up quickly and follows, not even about to argue about the other man paying for lunch. They don’t have time.  
.  
“I know what you’re thinking, but Bob doesn’t want any visitors and Butcher is taking Sisky home right now,” Cash goes on. “Bob says for everyone to go home.”

“Does Frank know?” Marshall asks. Bob and Frank’s relationship was over well before Marshall joined the team, but it’s no secret what they used to be, that they still care about one another.

Cash hums. “Nope, no one can seem to get a hold of him.”

“Probably let the battery in his phone die again,” Marshall comments. He doesn’t seem worried, so Ian figures he shouldn’t worry either.

“Probably,” Cash agrees. “He’ll be pissed that he’s the last to know what happened.”

**^^^^**

The car is quiet and Adam is uncomfortable. He doesn’t know why he agreed to let Butcher give him a ride home. It could have been the after affects of the healers or the fact that his head still kind of hurts. He’s certainly regretting it now.

“Adam, we need to talk.”

And doesn’t that get his attention. There have been a hundred different variations on his last name, but Butcher has never called him by his first name. He stays quiet, but tilts his head to let Butcher know he’s listening.

“I think I came off harsher than I meant to earlier,” Butcher says. “I think you have a right to know why I turned you down. It wasn’t because I’m not attracted to you, because I am. I’d have to be blind not to be attracted to you, Sisky.”

To Adam’s embarrassment he finds himself blushing at Butcher’s words. It’s not like he doesn’t know he’s good looking, but hearing it actually come from his object of affection is different.

“But,” Butcher goes on, eyes never straying from the road. “I’m a two hundred year-old vampire and you’re a, what, twenty-seven year-old human?”

“I’m an adult,” Adam points out.

“You are,” Butcher agrees. “But you’re still so young. You deserve someone closer to your own age, Sisky. Someone you can grow old with, not someone who is already well past being old.”

Adam turns in his seat to look at Butcher. “Don’t you think I should get to decide what I deserve?”

“Well, yeah, but--.”

“Is the issue my age or the fact that I’m going to grow old and die?” Adam asks matter-of-factly.

Butcher sucks in a breath and looks over at him. “That’s not fair, Adam.”

“But I’ve hit the nail on the head, haven’t I?” Adam retorts. He sighs and brushes a hand through his hair. “Andy, I’ll admit I didn’t consider that you might be thinking about forever--.”

“You don’t understand,” Butcher cuts in. “You don’t understand and I can’t explain it to you.”

“What? That you’re unwilling to even give us a chance?”

“There’s more to this than you know.”

“Then tell me,” Adam insists.

Butcher sighs deeply and stays silent. He’s silent long enough that Adam starts to get mad, thinking that the he’s simply done with the conversation. It’s unfair, Adam thinks, that Butcher can tell him that there’s more to it, but not explain it.

“Vampires can take lovers like any others and we can have as many as we want,” Butcher starts, his voice soft. “But sometimes, rarely, we find someone unlike any others and we can tell with every sense we possess when we’ve found that special someone. We’re compelled to mate, to bond heart, body, and soul, no matter what the cost, what the other person wants. It’s a scary thing, Sisky, to want that bond more than anything else in the world.”

For a moment Adam silently absorbs what Butcher is saying before he speaks. “Are you saying you want that bond with me?”

“What I’m saying is that I need that bond with you, Sisky, but I can’t ask you for that,” Butcher says. “You deserve a chance to find love with someone who doesn’t want you to give up for mortality for them.”

It is a lot to think about. Adam never really thought about anything past getting Butcher into his bed, but there seems to be much more to that than he thought. It’s not a decision he can come to lightly.

“At least give me the chance to consider it and come to my own decision,” Adam says finally.

Butcher glances over at him and for the first time that night he smiles at Adam. “Okay, but promise you’ll really think about it. It’s not something you’ll ever be able to take back.”

“I promise I’ll really think about it.”

Butcher pulls the car to a stop at Adam’s apartment complex. Adam feels a lot better about the situation between them now that they’ve talked. He doesn’t regret letting Butcher give him a ride home anymore.

“Night Sisky Biz, get plenty of sleep,” Butcher says as Adam opens the door.

Adam throws a grin over his shoulder. “Sure thing, old man.”

“That is so wrong,” Butcher says with a groan.

Adam laughs as he slides out of the car.

**^^^^**

Crawford is on the phone to someone. Marshall doesn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but he hasn’t got a handle on reigning in his senses yet. On the other end is a man who Crawford was apparently supposed to stay with, but from what Marshall’s gathered something has come up. Crawford is really cool about it, doesn’t give his friend any shit, but Marshall can smell his scent getting sour. By the time Crawford hangs up, Marshall already knows what he’s going to do.

“Are there any hotels close by?” Crawford asks.

“There are, but…I have a really comfy couch that you could sleep on if you’d like,” Marshall offers.

A surprised smile flickers across Crawford’s face. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it bothered me,” Marshall replies.

Marshall doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he hears Crawford scenting the air. He knows from his classes that werewolves use scent more than any other sense to take in the world around them. It makes them better at reading the emotions of any given situation than any other race. Crawford’s probably just trying to smell if he’s sincere or not.

“That would be awesome, thank you,” Crawford finally says.

They go back to base, because Marshall can’t take the unit vehicle home. They take a trip up to their floor and shut down their computers. Cash tells them that he’s going to wait for Frank to come back. They bid him good night and head down to the parking garage. Marshall could probably afford to have something flashy like Cash’s cherry red Mustang, but he doesn’t feel the need to attract attention with his car like Cash does. Instead, he’s just got a nice little Honda Civic that serves its purpose just fine. 

In the small car, Marshall finds it even more impossible than ever to ignore Crawford’s scent. It seems to fill the space and invade his nostrils with every breath. He realizes with a start that he’s actually breathing in deep to take as much of it as possible in, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Crawford just smells so damn good, like all the best smelling things in the world rolled into one tiny, smiling package sitting so unbearably close.

It’s intoxicating and with each deep breath he finds himself getting more and more turned on. He can’t get it under control and wonder if it’s the fact that he smells another werewolf, if it’s the wolf that smells so good to him or if it’s actually Crawford himself. If he could stop and think about it he’d know the answer, but the only thought in his head is how much he wants that scent wrapped around him, mixed with his own.

Unexpectedly, something dark and hungry curls tight in Marshall’s belly and he gasps. The wolf is howling for him to get closer, to touch, to taste, and it’s then he notices that Crawford is scenting the air in the exact same way. It’s then that he realizes that part of what he smells is Crawford’s arousal, that the other werewolf is reacting to him.

The drive to his apartment seems to take hours and by the time he’s pulling into his numbered parking spot they’re both keyed up. He knows all about the sexual nature of werewolves, he’s just not all that prepared to deal with it so suddenly.

Marshall is a little envious of Crawford who doesn’t seem to be having as much difficulty with it. All he can think about is how much he just wants. He stumbles on the steps up to his apartment and Crawford reaches out to steady him. There’s a flare of heat and the next thing he knows Crawford has him pinned against the wall with a thigh between his legs and his face buried in Marshall’s neck just smelling him. 

A switch inside his mind flips and he submits, melting against the wall. Marshall shivers and bares his throat and feels the rumble of approval from Crawford. Teeth scrape slowly across his hammering pulse and Marshall gasps, hips jerking against Crawford’s thigh. His legs have turned to jelly and they haven’t even kissed yet.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs breaks through the haze of lust and Crawford steps back. His hair seems wilder than ever and his eyes are dark and hot, searing into Marshall’s own. Two of the gargoyles that live on the roof pass between them on the nightly patrol that Marshall knows their clan his oath-bound to carry out. Marshall sees their nostrils flare and knows that they can smell what’s been going on, but they don’t stop or say anything.

Marshall pulls himself together to walk the rest of the way up the stairs, but when he stops to unlock his door, Crawford plasters himself against Marshall’s back. He feels hot everywhere he touches and Marshall fumbles the keys. It takes him two tries before he can get the door open and by then he’s panting and trembling. They stumble inside and Marshall almost reaches for the light switch out of habit, but they can both see perfectly fine and Crawford pushes him forward. 

“Bedroom,” Crawford growls.

Marshall lets Crawford push him while he directs them through the dark apartment toward the bedroom. Crawford’s teeth graze his neck and his knees just about give out, but he manages to make it into his bedroom. They can’t strip each other fast enough, hands everywhere, and he vaguely mourns the loss of his shirt when Crawford rips it from his body in the heat of the moment.

This is too fast. Unprofessional. Marshall manages to think.

Then the wolf takes over.

**^^^^**

Bob ordered them all home, Cash knows this, but waiting for Frank feels right. The older agent has to come back to base before he goes home, because Frank left with a department car. 

He decides to boot up his computer and get a little work done. He still has to finish his report on an incident with a gang of orcs from their last case. Bob has been on his case about it and Cash knows it’s only a matter of time before he gets really pissed about him procrastinating. It’s best not to piss Bob off.

Cash is really getting into describing the way he, Frank, and Jepha handled the violent orcs (it was impressive) when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. The floor is empty, everyone else having gone home a while ago, so it immediately catches his attention. He looks up and sees Frank heading for the stairs that lead up to Director Wentz’s office.

“Hey Iero, where have you been?” Cash calls out.

Frank stops and turns to look back at him. He’s silent for a moment longer than Cash feels is necessary before he answers. “I ran into a problem at the scene.”

“You didn’t wake the hobgoblins, did you?” Cash asks as Frank turns back to continue up the stairs.

“I’m not stupid,” Frank says over his shoulder. “Got jumped.”

“Are you okay?” Frank doesn’t answer. Cash frowns and stands up. “Where are you going.”

“I need to talk to Director Wentz.”

Cash’s frown deepens. Frank has never called him Director Wentz. He’s always called him either just ‘Wentz’ or ‘PeeWee’ if Frank’s feeling mean. Cash doesn’t know the details, but he know there’s history between Wentz and Frank.

“Wentz already went home,” Cash calls as Frank reaches the top of the stairs.

Frank freezes. “Oh.”

“Also, you didn’t answer your phone today, but Bob and Sisky got attacked by Michaels. Butcher took Sisky home, but Bob had to stay in the hospital overnight for observation,” Cash says. “Bob said for everyone to go home and get some rest, he wants us all fresh and rested for tomorrow…er…this morning now I suppose.”

Frank nods and starts back down the stairs. “Sounds like a good idea.”

“Are you going to the hospital?” Cash asks.

“No, Bob said to go home,” Frank replies. He walks by the bullpen without stopping.

If possible Cash’s frown deepens further. “Since when have you ever really listened to Bob?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Frank says and smiles.

A chill goes down Cash’s spine and his skin tingles, but he shrugs it off as being tired. He guesses Frank must be tired too and that’s why he’s acting kinda weird. It’s been a long day for them all.

**^^^^**

Adam doesn’t have any strong magical abilities and in a family full of magically gifted people that had always kind of stung. He has a hint of this and a hint of that, but he doesn’t need anything at all to have a bone deep feeling that something is wrong as soon as he walks into the bullpen. And as a profiler it only takes one look at Marshall and Ian to read something is seriously wrong there.

“Morning guys,” Adam says brightly.

“Hey man,” Cash greets. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, it wasn’t bad so the healers fixed me right up,” Adam answers. “I just hope I don’t ever have to cross a troll like that again. I’m glad all trolls aren’t like that”

“You and me both,” Bob says as he strolls in with his coffee in hand. His voice is wrecked and it sounds almost painful for him to talk. “Colligan, Michaels is stewing in interrogation room two.”

“Me, sir? Don’t you want a crack at him?” Cash returns, clearly surprised.

“I can’t-you’re the next best option.”

Cash throws a cocky grin toward Marshall. “Hear that? I’m the next best option.”

Adam laughs and heads to his desk as Cash preens. They’ve still got a lot of work to do. Bob will drive them like a slave master until they solve the case. They didn’t make any progress yesterday and he’s pretty sure even though Frank probably got to work at the crack of dawn, there’s been no progress so far today either.

“Marshall, Crawford go observe the interrogation,” Bob barks. He seems to think for a moment then adds, “Jepha, go in with Cash, but let him lead.”

Adam looks up to see Marshall giving Bob a seriously dark look. Crawford seems to be torn between shooting Marshall a hurt look and staring at Frank. That seems just a bit odd to Adam. Frank and Crawford didn’t seem to make any connections yesterday, but Crawford can’t seem to stop looking and he seems to be sniffing the air subconsciously.

“Adam,” Bob snaps and Adam realizes that while he was observing his teammates he’d tuned out Bob. “Go the lab and see if either of them found anything.”

“Yes sir,” Adam says quickly.

He doesn’t waste any time. It’s not very often that Bob takes anything out of them, but today seems to be one of those days. The last thing Adam ever wants to do is incur Bob’s wrath. For a human, Bob is very intimidating when he’s mad.

Everyone but Bob and Frank follow him over to the elevator. The labs are one level above the holding cells and interrogation rooms, both of which are underground along with the morgue at the bottom level. The ride is quiet and tense and since Adam isn’t a big fan of quiet or tense he breaks the silence.

“What’s your sudden fascination with Frank today?”

Crawford frowns in thought. “I’m not sure, it’s kind of weird. He smells wrong today.”

“Smells wrong how?” Adam asks.

“I’m not sure,” Crawford admits and frowns deeper. “He just…his scent is there, but faint, like it’s only on his clothes. There’s something else that smells stronger, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“He doesn’t feel right,” Jepha adds. “Does anyone know what he did yesterday when he went back to the neighborhood?”

“He said he got jumped and he got back to base really late, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it,” Cash answers. “He said he needed to talk to Director Wentz and he seemed very determined.”

Jepha frowns slightly. “Frank has never called him that, ever.”

“Maybe he took a shot to the head when he was jumped,” Marshall suggests.

Before anyone can say anything else the elevator stops and the doors slide open. He steps out and leaves the others to continue down to the interrogation rooms. He grins slightly as he catches the faint sounds of music coming down the hall. There are a few sets of labs here for the various departments, but he knows the music is coming from his department’s lab. As he gets closer he can begin to make out what exactly is playing and he grins even wider as he goes around the corner and into the lab.

“Sisky Biz!” Butcher shouts in greeting over the loud rock music. He headbangs his way over to the stereo and turns it down.

“Hey Butcher,” Adam greets him back. “Have you found anything else for our case?”

“Negative,” Butcher replies. “That fingerprint was it, dude.”

“I found something you might find interesting though,” Brendon speaks up from his labyrinth of computers.

“Awesome, we could really use a break,” Adam says and strolls across the room to where Brendon is sitting. The technopath has his fingers deep into the circuitry of his master control panel.

“I’m not sure if it’s much of a break, but here ya go. I managed to find the video recorded by the kid’s webcam,” Brendon says.

One of the big monitors comes to life with video of Lance Connors. He’s talking with someone, apparently playing a video game of some sort. If Adam listens closely enough he can hear the other person through Lance’s speakers. He could have Brendon isolate the other voice, but the conversation seems to be just about strategies in whatever game they’re playing.

Behind Lance the door opens and Justin Connors walks in. “Hey, I need to speak with you downstairs. Mom and Dad are already there.”

“Can’t it wait? I’m about to level up,” Lance whines.

“Sorry, kiddo, but it can’t wait.”

“Alright,” Lance sighs. He tells his friend he’ll be right back and then gets up and follows Justin out of the room.

“That’s it,” Brendon says. “The video goes on until the laptop goes into standby, but the mic isn’t strong enough to pick up whatever happened downstairs.”

Adam frowns. “Play it again.”

Brendon nods obediently and the video restarts. Adam watches it intently. Even the second time through Adam can’t read any ill will in Justin’s body language. He doesn’t look or act like a kid about to slaughter his family, but the dialogue is pretty damning. If he gathered his family in the living room he could very well have been the one to murder them. Unfortunately, it’s compelling evidence, but still not conclusive.

“Play it one more time please,” Adam requests.

The video starts again and this time Adam pays close attention to Justin’s face. The kid keeps his head tipped down and looking at the back of his brother’s head so Adam can’t see his eyes. Nothing in his face hints at anything dangerous. Then, just before Lance stands up, Justin’s eyes flicker up to look right into the camera. Adam sucks in a breath.

“Wait, rewind second and pause it,” Adam tells Brendon. The technopath does as requested. “Son of a bitch.”

**^^^^**

Cash stares through the glass at the troll sitting in the interrogation room. Michaels is easily bigger than anyone in the building and even secured with half a dozen shackles, that’s intimidating. Cash would rather have his teeth pulled than admit that to anyone, but there’s no denying it to himself. He’s never interrogated a troll before, not by himself, and even the guard armed with a powerful shock baton isn’t very reassuring.

“Those shackles are designed to hold a dragon,” Jepha says beside him.

“I know,” Cash replies, tapping the file in his hand against his other palm. “I’m just letting him stew for a minute.”

Jepha makes a noise that says he’s clearly not fooled, but going to let Cash get away with it. That’s why Cash likes Jepha. Jepha doesn’t feel the need to posture like the rest of them. Like most of his teammates, Cash doesn’t know what exactly Jepha is, but he knows that Jepha is an L-5 and that’s enough to make him glad he’s on their side.

He hears Marshall open his mouth to say something, but Cash escapes whatever his teammate is about to say (probably something taunting) by ducking out of the room. He stops outside of the door to the interrogation room and thinks. He could shift himself into something a little more intimidating, but he’s not sure that’s the route to go with Michaels. He decides to leave that as an option and enters the room in his own form.

“Mr. Michaels,” Cash barks. He’s gratified when the addressed jerks in surprise. “You want to tell me why you attacked federal officers?”

“No.”

“I think you do,” Cash says. “You know what’s going to happen to you now, right? For attempted murder of two federal officers you’re most likely going to be sentenced to be erased. You know there’s no tolerance for violence toward officers, you knew that before you attacked them.”

“You got point?” Michaels growls.

Cash throws the file down on the table. Michaels jumps. Cash is already starting to come to a few conclusions without Michaels telling him anything.

“Those men you attacked are my teammates and you’re lucky I want to solve this case more than I want to see them erase you,” Cash says in a deadly soft voice. “So, I’m going to offer you this deal-you tell me why your fingerprint was at the Connors’ home and I’ll suggest enforced enlistment instead. You can redeem yourself by serving your country.”

Cash can’t honestly think of anything worse than the idea of being erased, of losing who he is and never getting it back. The idea of living a life as an emotionless, empty shell makes him shudder. 

“Jeremy, there can’t possibly be anything worth being erased for, what would be the point,” Cash needles. “Just tell me what you were doing at the Connors’ home.”

Michaels remains quiet and Cash is just starting to think he might have to change tactics when the troll takes a deep breath and starts talking. By the time Michaels stops talking there is no doubt in Cash’s mind. Michaels is guilty of attacking federal officers and many other petty crimes linked to the Connors family, but he didn’t kill them. If anything he stood to lose from the death of Derek Connors.

“You realize that you made things worse for yourself than they had to be,” Cash says.

“You say if I cooperate--.”

“Yeah and if you’d just told my teammates all of this to begin with you wouldn’t be in so much of a mess,” Cash cuts him off sharply. “You’re lucky I’m a man of my word.”

Michaels seems to shrink in on himself a little. “My Daddy always say I no good, that I nuthin’ but trouble. I guess he right.”

For the briefest moment Cash almost ignores what the troll said, but it hits too close to home. “My mother said the same about me. The difference between us is that I tried to prove her wrong.”

Cash left the room then, nodding to the guard as he went. Outside he motionsthe other three guards inside. Michaels had gotten himself red flagged, there was no way any less that four guards will be used to escort him anywhere. Cash is scrappy, he’s been through his fair share of fights for his life, but even he wouldn’t take on any of the guards. They were all L-5 kick-ass-a-hundred-ways, tough as nails, highly trained warriors. Cash breaks out in a cold sweat if one of them so much as frowns at him.

Jepha is waiting in the hall for him. He can tell by one quick look that they’ve both come to the same conclusion. Michaels was a dead end.

“Marshall and Crawford went to check Michaels alibi,” Jepha tells Cash. “I don’t think he did it.”

“I don’t think so either, but where does that leave us now?”

**^^^^**

Marshall shifts on his feet uncomfortably. He kind of hates Bob right now. The last thing he wants is to be around Crawford after what happened between them. He needs to focus on the case and he can’t do that with Crawford’s sour smelling scent filling the air between them all day. It turns his stomach to know that he’s made Crawford smell that way, but it’s for the best, even if his heart ached at the devastated look on Crawford’s face as he told him that last night meant nothing.

It was a lie. And that’s what’s so terrifying. When Marshall woke up curled into Crawford’s arms he realized what the wolf had done, what he’d let the wolf do. What all the feelings inside him meant and why Crawford’s scent was so unavoidably attractive to him. All his classes in lycanthropology came back to taunt him. They had scent-bonded at the very moment of their meeting and by having sex they’d sealed the bond. Crawford is his mate, his Alpha and that thought, that he’s bonded to someone who is practically a stranger, is frightening.

The most distressing thing is the feeling of jealousy he’s gotten today watching Crawford watch Frank. He hates that Crawford is paying more attention to Frank, and he hates that he hates that. Finally, he can’t keep his curiosity to himself any longer.

“What’s up with your fascination with Frank today?” Marshall asks. He goes for curious, but it comes out accusatory.

“It’s his scent,” Crawford offers. “I don’t know what it means, but you had to notice that he doesn’t smell right today.”

“Maybe he’s using a new cologne,” Marshall says. He doesn’t want to admit that he hasn’t been able to smell anything but Crawford all morning.

Crawford shakes his head and has to brush his hair out of his face. “No, I know the difference between cologne and someone’s scent. He smells wrong in a way I can’t explain.”

Marshall is silent as they step into the elevator. His instincts tell him that something isn’t right. There’s no way Michaels should have been released into the warden’s custody already. They never do that until the case is solved.

The elevator stops at the lab level and Adam stumbles in. He holds up his phone and practically shoves it in Marshall’s face in his excitement. “Look.”

On the screen is Lance Connors and behind him is Justin Connors…whose eyes are glowing yellow. Marshall’s eyes widen at the sight and he takes it to show to Crawford. The other werewolf looks just as surprised by the image as Marshall himself.

“Is that…?”

“That’s a shedder,” Adam says. “I’ve never seen one before, but I remember learning about them in the Academy.”

“That explains a lot,” Marshall says. “That’s why the family went willingly into the living room.”

“And why we couldn’t find any evidence of a stranger in the house,” Crawford adds.

“You just broke the case wide open, good job Sisky,” Marshall says and pats the other agent on the back.

Adam shrugs. “Well, we know a shedder did it, but we may never catch it.”

“And since Justin has served his purpose, I bet the kid is dead already and that shedder is long gone,” Crawford adds.

The elevator stops once again and they all step out. They continue to talk it out as the walk down the row toward their bullpen.

“What was the purpose though? Why go through all the trouble of killing that family?” Marshall muses.

“Probably had something to do with what Cash found out. Derek Connors was doing some dirty underground business and he probably stepped on the wrong toes,” Crawford says.

When they enter the bullpen Marshall notice Frank and Bob are both gone. They really need to share what they’ve found with the senior agents. He hopes that maybe they’ll have better advice for finding a shedder.

An agent from Carden’s team, Jon Walker, walks by just then and Marshall calls out to him. “Hey Walker, do you know where Bob and Frank are?”

Jon is a friendly sort, always willing to help. He’s got a stack of files in his hand, but he still stops by their bullpen. Marshall sees Jon’s nostrils flare and then the other’s eyes widen. Of course, Jon being a werewolf would smell the scent-bond between Marshall and Crawford, it would be impossible for any werewolf to ignore. Thankfully, Jon doesn’t comment on it.

“Director Wentz called Bob up to talk about the incident with Michaels yesterday,” Jon says. “Frank went with him.”

Marshall frowns in thought and doesn’t notice that Jon is still standing there scenting the air until Adam thanks Jon and politely dismisses him. Something about this whole situation feels wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end. Somehow it all centers on Frank, he feels it in his bones.

“You said that Frank doesn’t smell right today, do you think he maybe has someone else’s scent?” Marshall asks Crawford.

Crawford’s eyes widen. “The one thing shedder’s can’t mimic is someone’s scent. You don’t think…?”

Marshall doesn’t stop to think. He races to his desk and grabs his gun. If he’s wrong about this Cash and Frank will tease him endlessly, but they can’t take that chance. He vaguely registers Crawford and Adam follow him up the stairs to the Director Wentz’s office. Wentz’s secretary, Stump, stands up as they burst in.

“You can’t go in there,” Stump warns.

Marshall doesn’t have time to argue. He throws the door to Wentz’s office open to find Bob unconscious on the floor bleeding from his chest and a nasty cut on his forehead. Wentz is struggling weakly with Frank who has a wicked looking dagger in his hand. Wentz is already bleeding from a wound on his side and seems to be just barely keeping Frank from plunging the blade into his heart. Wentz may be a dragon, but a stab to the heart will kill him.

“Freeze!” Marshall shouts. He points his gun at the man who is quite obviously not Frank.

“If you shoot me you hurt your friend,” not-Frank says. “We’re psychically linked you know.”

“Drop the weapon,” Marshall orders. Not-Frank is right, but the real Frank would rather die than be the cause of someone else’s death (even if that someone is Director Wentz)

Wentz’s grip slips a little and not-Frank shoves the dagger down and at the same time Crawford pounces. Marshall watches in shocked awe as Crawford and not-Frank roll across the floor struggling for possession of the dagger. Shedder’s are stronger than humans, but so are werewolves and they seem evenly matched. Then the shedder manages to slash Crawford across the stomach and the werewolf rears back with a howl of agony, blood flowing instantly.

Marshall sees red. A rage like he’s never felt in his life wells up inside him and all he can think is mate hurt. Killkillkill. The wolf completely takes over his mind and he goes for not-Frank without any regard for his own safety. Not-Frank has Crawford pinned, so Marshall catches him completely by surprise. He grabs the arm holding the dagger and yanks it back so viciously it bends the wrong way at the elbow with a sickening crack. Not-Frank shrieks and Marshall gets the dagger away from him. He pulls the shedder off his mate and pins the not-Frank to the ground. He prepares to plunge the dagger into the heart of the one who would dare hurt his mate, but instead his arm is grabbed and he’s yanked backwards. 

Snarling with rage he struggles with whoever has a hold of him. It’s not until he hears his mate’s voice trying to sooth him that he relaxes into the other’s hold. His mate’s scent fills his nostrils as he allows himself to be pulled away from not-Frank. He turns in his mate’s arms and pulls him close, breathing in deep to take in as much of his mate’s scent as possible.

“It’s okay, I’m okay it’s just a scratch.”

The wolf thinks mate safe and then Marshall can think clearly again. He pulls out of Crawford’s arms and looks around. Adam is securing not-Frank while Patrick ison his phone calling for healers. Marshall hears Crawford say something about dragon’s bane and can’t help but think that if he’d put two-and-two together sooner Director Wentz wouldn’t be poisoned. And he doesn’t even know how bad Bob is hurt or where Frank is.

“You were going to kill him for me,” Crawford says from beside him.

Marshall flicks a glare in his direction. “What were you thinking? He could have killed you.”

“He was going to kill Wentz,” Crawford says like it’s just that simple. “Your wolf was prepared to kill to defend me.”

Marshall sighs and lets himself lean against the other werewolf. “Yeah, so, maybe I lied about last night not meaning anything.”

“I already knew that,” Crawford says. He buries his nose in Marshall’s shoulder and breathes in deep.

“But I’m not ready for this.”

“So we’ll take it slow,” Crawford replies. “We can go back to step one and get to know each other, work our way up from there.”

Marshall sighs and turns his head toward Crawford. “Okay, we’ll take it slow.”

**^^^^**

When Bob wakes up he feels like he’s floating on pink fluffy clouds. He opens his eyes but can’t even comprehend what he’s seeing. He hears a snort from beside him and tries to turn his head, but it feels like he’s moving through jello.

“Pink fluffy clouds, huh? I’ll remember that for later.”

Bob knows that voice. He blinks his eyes slowly and his mind starts to focus just a little more and he realizes he’s looking at Frank. “Wah?”

“They’ve got you drugged up pretty good. The healers didn’t think you were going to pull through there for a little bit,” Frank says. “Thankfully, you’re going to be okay, PeeWee too.”

Bob blinks again. He gets a flash of Frank with a dagger and frowns. Frank would never hurt him, it doesn’t make any sense.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Frank says softly. “It was a shedder. He staged the murder to draw a SCIU team in, then watched us. He took the place of a neighbor and waited for one of us to come to question him-attacked me, then took my place. Apparently the whole thing was so he could assassinate Pete.”

Bob frowns and blinks. What Frank said should make sense, but the feeling of floating on pink fluffy clouds is just too good. He can get the gist of it though, gets that the plot was foiled and everyone is going to be okay. It’s enough for him and he lets himself float away. The last thing he registers is a soft look on Frank’s face and then he’s asleep again.


End file.
